Rob Zombie - Lords of Salem

She had their publicity photo on the desk and a Sharpie out. She’d thought the photo would be labeled, but it wasn’t, which meant that she’d have to talk to them and ask them who was who or else Chip, the station manager, would complain. She looked closely at the photo. They looked just as bad in that. Ugh. Hideous. Why would anyone want to dress up like someone dead? She shivered. It was just plain morbid.

“Umm, excuse me,” she said.

Neither of them looked up. Maybe they weren’t aware that they were being addressed, but how could they not be? They were the only two other people in the reception area. They were foreign, right? Norwegian, maybe. Maybe they didn’t even speak English.

But no, she thought a moment later, if they didn’t speak English, why would they be here for a radio interview? They were just being difficult.

“Hey, you,” she said. “The ghoul reading Highlights .” Highlights? she wondered. Wasn’t that a kid’s magazine? The man looked up. He was wearing pale white face makeup, except for his eyes, which were lost in a pool of black. His lips were bloodred and smeared wider than his actual mouth, and blood or something that looked like it seemed to have dripped from his chin to stain his chest. Leather thongs bristling with nails formed a sort of headgear for him. A kind of black leather harness covered with larger spikes, what she saw as a sort of pervert’s idea of lederhosen, was his only clothing. She couldn’t help wondering what the spikes were doing to the vinyl chair he was sitting on. Who was going to pay for that?

“Which one of you is Count Gorgann?” she asked.

The musician reading Highlights lifted one hand in a Satanic salute, pointer finger and pinky lifted, his two middle fingers bent to touch his palm. He waggled his tongue and tipped his wrist to point his salute at his own face.

“All righty then,” said Cerina. She turned to the man next to him. “Which I guess makes you Dr. Butcher,” she said.

This one had apparently painted his face black first and then applied white face paint over it. It made his face look like a broken skull with darkness seeping out from behind it. The more she looked at it the more unsettling it seemed. His mouth had been painted in blood in a drooping frown that reached the side of his jaw. What must their monthly face paint bill be? Cerina asked herself, which made her wonder if she should check her own makeup. His arms were covered from wrist to elbow with leather bracers, with rusty iron spikes on them. High tetanus risk , Cerina couldn’t help but think. He had more clothes on, a black T-shirt with the sleeves torn off and black jeans, but over the jeans he’d affixed a kind of codpiece with dozens of screws jutting tip-first out of it. He lifted his head briefly. He opened his mouth wide to show black-stained teeth, then returned to his magazine.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said.

You gotta be shittin’ me , she thought, carefully writing each name in Sharpie beneath the correct image. Damn, I really got to get a better job.

“Are you serious?” asked Heidi. “I’m the problem?”

“You know you’re the problem,” said Herman. “Don’t make me explain it to you.”

He pulled into a parking spot behind the studio, turned the car off. He’d opened the door and was starting to step out when she put her hand on his arm and stopped him.

“Excuse me,” said Heidi. “Just how am I the problem?”

He turned back toward her. “Well,” he said. “For one, if you weren’t always all dolled up and striking some glamour pose, me and Whitey wouldn’t end up looking like ebony and ivory mutants.”

“I’ve got news for you,” said Heidi. “You’d look like ebony and ivory mutants whether I was there or not.”

“Thanks a whole lot,” said Herman.

They got out. Herman opened the back door and began unloading the boxes of promo photos, stacking his arms full. Heidi grabbed the last one.

“I’m the one all dolled up?” she said. “You dress like that pimp on TV Land, Teddy Bear.”

Herman pretended to be offended. “I believe you mean Huggy Bear,” he said. Then shouted, “My man Antonio Fargas!”

Laughing and shaking his head, he headed toward the station door, Heidi close behind him.

Cerina had turned away from the two black-metal ghouls, ducking a little underneath the desk as she spoke in a low voice into the phone.

“I swear to Jesus I got Satan times two sitting right across from me.” She curled the phone cord around her finger, listened. “I don’t know…,” she said. “Some kind of heavy metal bullshit.” She snuck a glance at the two band members. They were both still reading their magazines, waiting calmly. “Norwegian, I think. Norwegian Satanists.” She listened again. “I think it’s near Russia or something. Let me Google it.”

She was tapping into her laptop, phone now held in a shrug between her shoulder and ear, when the stained-glass front doors rattled. Through them she saw Herman, arms stacked with boxes, trying to get in. She watched him, making no move to get up. A moment later, Heidi scooted around from behind him and held the door open.

Herman nodded in a way that could be interpreted as a thank-you. That was Herman all over, Cerina thought, her lips tight. Always prickly, never going out of his way to make anybody feel good about herself unless he wanted something from her.

He was talking to Heidi, speaking over his shoulder. “I should just walk these straight to the toilet and give a good flush,” he said.

Just what does he have in those boxes? Cerina wondered, curious. “Hold on,” she said into the phone, and covered the mouthpiece with her hand. When she spoke she was careful to look straight at Heidi, pretending that Herman wasn’t even there.

“Sweetie,” she asked, “you need any help?”

“No, we got it,” said Heidi.

Fine, they don’t need me. I’ve got better things to do anyway. Cerina nodded and uncovered the phone. “Oh, speaking of bullshit,” she said, a little louder now, “I caught that bitch Jessica in a straight-up lie… Yes, sir, right to my face.”

She took the photo of the band with the names marked on it and held it out across the desk, shaking it at Heidi as she passed. For a moment, Heidi simply ignored it and then she regarded Cerina with an inquiring look. When the latter nodded vigorously, she took the photo.

“Uh-huh,” she said into the phone, beginning to rant now. “Then the nervy bitch tells me she’s too sick to babysit my Reggie. No, she wasn’t sick… Bitch posted pictures on Facebook of herself doing Jell-O shots at Charley T’s… Of course I said something. What am I? I’m not her mother…”

She let her voice trail off. Heidi had stopped at the inner doors, had held them open for Herman but still hadn’t gone through herself. She was staring at the black-metal musicians. Both of them had put their magazines down and were staring back, still and unblinking. Their gaze was emotionless, but very attentive. Then Heidi put her hand against her forehead and lowered her eyes and a moment later was through the doors.

For a long moment, the musicians continued to stare at the doors, almost as if they were willing her to come back out again. Then they both made a weird gesture, kind of like they were crossing themselves, but with the motions all wrong. Weirdos , thought Cerina.

Chapter Thirteen

Whitey was on the far side of the break room, filing CDs on one of the racks. He nodded once at Herman as he entered and then kept on with it. Chip MacDonald was there as well, but standing at a little distance, clearly watching Whitey. Chip’s hair, the little of it that was left, was a mess, sticking straight up on the top of his head. He should just go on home , thought Herman. He don’t need to be here to watch us; we’re old pros . Man’s never gonna learn. He’s just gonna make Whitey anxious and get himself all worked up in the process.